


Disco Fever

by spirograph



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-03
Updated: 2005-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:54:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spirograph/pseuds/spirograph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John was first handed a brightly coloured invitation with the words ANNUAL ATLANTIS DISCOTECH printed in bold black text across the front he wasn’t quite sure what to think, except that maybe Elizabeth had finally lost her mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disco Fever

When John was first handed a brightly coloured invitation with the words _ANNUAL ATLANTIS DISCOTECH_ printed in bold black text across the front he wasn’t quite sure what to think, except that maybe Elizabeth had finally lost her mind.

Six months later John walked into one of Atlantis’s many briefing rooms to find it cleared of all furniture, the atmospheric lighting darkened considerably. Then he became suddenly aware of ABBA’s _Dancing Queen_ blaring over the city wide intercom and his eyes went wide because hanging in the center of the room was a giant silver disco ball, spinning slowly and sending glittering rays out over the crowd. And there _was_ a crowd. John suspected most, if not all, of Atlantis’s inhabitants had turned out for the event, and as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting he realized a sizeable portion of them were dressed up in ‘retro’ attire. 

By the time John noticed that someone had even gone to great trouble to re-create a checkerboard dance-floor Rodney was approaching him wearing a iridescent turquoise shirt, arm extended, presenting John with a glass of something he prayed was alcoholic. “Evening, Colonel,” Rodney said cheerily which lead John to believe the drink was, in fact, extremely alcoholic because Rodney was never that happy sober. And God, that _shirt_. 

“Hi, Rodney,” John replied reaching for the offered glass that’s contents, on closer inspection, smelled vaguely fruity and tasted blissfully champagne-laced. “Having fun?” 

Rodney gulped down a mouthful of punch. “I had to have four cups of this before Radek could fully persuade me to wear this god-awful shirt,” he said then downed the last of his drink and grinned broadly to no one in particular. 

John was about to comment on the shimmering blue polyester really complimenting Rodney’s complexion when a roar of cheering emerged from the other side of the room. He didn’t have to search very far for the reason behind it because Zelenka was moving into the center of the dance floor in the most ridiculously tight orange bellbottomed pants he had ever seen. Then people were _clapping_ and encouraging the scientist as he beckoned toward the crowd. John felt his jaw dropping in disbelief while Rodney beside him spluttered down at his empty glass, obviously losing control of his composure.

Then, to John’s horror, Ronon approached the center of the floor. At that point Rodney made a terribly unhealthy noise and recoiled toward the punch bowl and John let out a hiccupping laugh because Ronon was dressed in his usual garb but somehow within the disco context managed to look like one of the Village People, which lead to all kinds of thoughts about macho men and cowboys; and he could swear he was about to rupture a vital organ by the way Ronon and Zelenka were dancing in the center of the floor, facing each other as if they were locked in some kind of dance-off. Ronon looked like he was about to tear Radek to shreds, but Zelenka was _grinning_ and wiggling his hips in tiny circles, then he began to add arm movements to his routine and John had to look away or risk serious injury. 

Taking up a seat beside the door, hidden safely in the shadows, John sipped his drink and observed the scene as if unfolded. Elizabeth, John noted, was wearing a hideous paisley number with flared sleeves and was excitedly clapping her hands, cheeks flushed pink as she gave everyone around her a beaming smile. 

John was about to abandon all hope and doom the fate of the universe when he spied, from the corner of his eye, a figure clothed in black entering the room. Looking up he was confronted with his second in command dressed from head to toe in sinfully tight polyester under which he didn’t appear to be wearing anything but three huge, tacky fake-gold medallions. John promptly choked on his mouthful of punch and sent a stream of liquid dribbling from the corner of his mouth. 

“Evening, Colonel,” Lorne said, hands on his hips and head cocked to one side. John didn’t know what was worse, the self-satisfied grin or the medallions, and he had to concentrate very hard on not breaking into a fit of hysterical laughter at the other mans expense. The Major settled next to him and for a while they made idle chit chat about the way Zelenka was still dancing in the center of the room, and how he had been joined by _Rodney_ who was finding it difficult to move in step with the music, hold his drink upright and not bump into the people around him all at the same time. 

Due to Lorne’s shirt being open so wide to accommodate his gaudy jewellery, John found himself oddly distracted by the simple fact that, even in the dimness, each time he turned to look in Lorne’s direction he caught a glimpse of the man’s nipple. John was attempting to not look down at Lorne’s chest again when he realized, by the expression of amusement lighting up the other man’s face, that the Major had caught on and John was very clearly snapped. “What?” John said feigning innocent. 

Lorne shook his head and said, “So. Where’s your costume, Colonel?” To which John replied, “I _burned_ it,” and took another sip of his punch. Lorne nodded.

The music then suddenly slowed along with the movements of every person on the dance floor. As a rule John didn’t _do_ dancing, and it occurred to him that someone was probably going to invite him for a slow dance any second so he got to his feet and shifted a little further back into the shadows praying that no one saw him. After a minute he quickly touched Lorne on the shoulder then stealthy retreated sideways out of the room and through the adjoining corridor. 

Hiding in an alcove some way along the hall, John heard footsteps approaching and really hoped it wasn’t Elizabeth coming to order him back into the disco. He was relieved to discover that it was actually Major Lorne who was, by rights, looking a hundred kinds of sexy in a pair of hip hugging slightly-flared black pants.

John was lucky Atlantis like him so much because he was desperately trying to remember any storage rooms on that particular level that he could commandeer to take advantage of said pants when just down the hall a door slid open revealing just the thing he was imagining. With a quick glance up and down the corridor, John moved forward, stepped over the threshold and beckoned the Major in after him.

Once safely inside, the door slid shut behind them and John reached for the buttons of Lorne’s shirt, tugging the fabric aside to reveal his smooth, muscular chest and those damn hideous medallions that ,close up, were considerably more horrendous. “Those have _got_ to go,” he heard himself say and Lorne gasped as John slid his palms over the curve of the Major’s shoulders, easing the shirt off completely. 

In a flurry of movement John found himself pinned against one of the walls, Lorne’s tongue doing wicked things to the sensitive patch of flesh where his neck met shoulder, his second in commands hands pulling urgently at the waistband of his pants. John didn’t protest, not even when Lorne threw his belt halfway across the room, violently tugged John’s pants open then down and turned him to face the wall. ‘Fuck _Yes_ ’, he thought as Lorne stood at his side and sucked John’s earlobe into his mouth, nibbling it gently with his front teeth while he ran his hand over the swell of John’s ass, letting the pad of his thumb slowly stroke the smooth skin above the cleft of it.

John pushed back against Lorne’s hand, encouraging him to move his hand lower, but the Major made a disapproving sound against John’s ear and took his hand away completely. “Hey!” John exclaimed then looked over his shoulder to see the other man standing in front of the shelving unit across the room, rummaging through an unlabelled box. 

Reluctantly John bit back an extended outcry of frustration, focusing instead on the remembered sensation of Lorne’s warm hands against his skin. John’s gaze was sinking gradually down to the boldly extenuated shape of Lorne’s ass when abruptly the Major turned back to face him with a bottle between his hands and said “Olive oil!” John imagined he looked in that instant similar to how he had earlier while watching Zelenka dance. “Extra Virgin,” the Major added, practically glowing with delight.

Lorne moved forward then, unscrewing the lid of the oil bottle and tossing it thoughtlessly to his left. He poured a generous helping of the liquid onto his fingers and rubbed them together, leaning down to place the bottle on the floor near to John’s feet. John splayed his fingers, palms flat on the wall in front of him to brace himself.

“Spread your legs,” Lorne whispered, hot breath against John’s ear as he slid his middle finger between the cheeks of John’s ass. John complied eagerly, shivering as his second in command gently eased an oil slick finger inside him, followed a minute later by another. Leisurely, Lorne thrust his fingers in and out of John’s body, holding still on the in-thrust to break the rhythm, sucking on the flesh of John’s neck simultaneously which sent a jolt of pleasure straight to John’s cock. He arched, pushing back to drive Lorne’s fingers deeper inside him and the other man groaned against his cheek, licking his lips, pressing them to John’s skin in a careless kiss. 

Lorne remained stationary however, until John let out a forlorn “God, _move_ ,” followed by a strangled “ _please_ ,” that caused the other man to press his own erection against John’s thigh as he began to move again, creating a steady pace, John automatically pushing backwards again and again so he was practically being fucked by his second in command’s fingers. 

At that point John would possibly have liked Lorne to literally fuck him, but his own hand was already wrapped around his cock and he was pumping himself frantically, losing all sense of rhythm, grunting inarticulately as Lorne twisted his fingers impossibly deeper and hit him right _there_ , once, twice, three times; sweet bone-melting pleasure driving him over the edge.

Lorne then pressed his confined erection harder against John’s bare outer thigh, muttering something that sounded like “so _hot_ ,” his fingers fully engulfed by the slippery heat of John’s body. Aftershocks still shaking him, John felt Lorne go suddenly rigid before he let out a powerful, shuddering exhale against John’s shoulder, his hips jerking slightly. 

John listened to the other man’s shattered breaths as they mingled with the music drifting through the hallway outside. John could make out the familiar melody of _Mama Mia_ and he was quite certain he could hear clapping and laughing too as Lorne withdrew his fingers from John’s body. 

“Good,” John mumbled and felt Lorne nodding loosely against him, their breathing progressively returning to normal as, from down the hallway, came an uplifting chorus of voices cheering and yelling _“Go Rodney! Go Rodney…”_


End file.
